


Meteor: A Final Fantasy XIV Story

by Zwill711



Series: Meteor: A Final Fantasy XIV Story [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Naming conventions get thrown out the window because I didn't think about them when I named my OCs., No beta we die like mne, Roegadyn Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Semi-Novellization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwill711/pseuds/Zwill711
Summary: A woman charging towards the future.A criminal running from his past.A mage in search of knowledge and power.A hunter seeking wealth.At first glance, these four adventurers have nothing to do with each other; however, they will soon find themselves intrinsically linked by the strings of fate, and bearing a heavy destiny that no hero, no matter how great, can bear alone......once they finish milking those sheep over there.
Series: Meteor: A Final Fantasy XIV Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932538
Kudos: 2





	1. Navigator's Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is gonna be a FFXIV novelization series I had in mind, featuring my various FFXIV OCs.
> 
> I should note that the idea for this comes from "Stranded in a Strange World" by diaphanous87 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531423/chapters/48731324) and "Our Unending Journey" by @sabato__n on Twitter (https://twitter.com/sabato__n/status/1259996868353949698), both of which are likely much better than what I'm pumping out.
> 
> I should also note that while I've tried to make a story that can be jumped into right here, I'd recommend reading the prelude to this. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785224)
> 
> With all that said, thanks for reading this, and enjoy the story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand and glorious adventures of Sigurd Hackett begin, with a hearty helping of exposition.

_**Meteor** _

_**A Final Fantasy XIV Story** _

_**Chapter One – Navigator's Glory** _

“Oi! Oi, Miss! You alright?!”

Sigurd Hackett awoke from a stressful recurring dream to yelling directed at her-of all the times she’d woken up in her twenty-nine years living on the vast world of Eorzea, this was quickly proving to be one of the less pleasant ones. She opened her eyes groggily and saw a tan man with a cheap-looking red tunic and bandana staring at her, and she began to come back to reality, remembering that she was on a ship headed for the grand coastal city-state of Limsa Lominsa.

“I’m fine-no need to shout.” Sigurd grumbled, running a hand through her hair in an attempt to remove the knots acquired in her sleep.

“I’m just looking out for our mutual interests-I think we’d both hate for ya to get seasick and deposit your lunch all over this cabin.” The man replied with a wry smile. “Although, now that I look at ya...I’m thinkin’ it’s the aether.”

“What’s that gotta do with it?” Sigurd asked.

“Aether is everywhere, but every place has a different sort of aether prevalent-some are more sensitive to those differences than others, and we’re not too far from Limsa now. You get used to it.”

As he said that, the ship lurched and groaned, causing him to briefly lose his footing.

“Might as well be seasickness, though-the waters are proving an angry mistress today. Still-think I might head out on deck. Get myself some fresh air. Seeing as you’re awake, care to join me?” He said, gesturing to a pair of Elezen twins dressed in blue and red sweaters sitting across from Sigurd. “Those young’uns don’t care much for conversation. They’ve been all business, all the time, ever since we boarded-acting like they’ve got the whole world on their shoulders.”

“Sure, sounds good. I could use a breather.” Sigurd responded. “I’ve never asked, by the way-what’s your name?”

“Brennan’s the name, peddlin’s my game.” He answered enthusiastically, before chuckling to himself. “Anyroad, come along now-never know when the seas will turn sour.”

Sigurd pushed herself off the couch and stretched her arms in a wide arc, still waking up slowly but surely, before picking up her axe and slinging it over her back. She glanced over at the twins, feeling like there was something suspect about them, and then decided to push such questions aside and simply enjoy the trip to Limsa, following Brennan out onto the deck, her hair almost immediately beginning to fly like a mainsail in the gentle breeze of the Rhotano Sea surrounding the large island of La Noscea-a highly refreshing feeling after being cooped up in such a small cabin.

“Ah, feel that air!” Brennan exclaimed. “Out here, it’s like all my problems just blow away with the wind.”

“I see what you mean.”

“Now, then-I’m guessing by that outfit and that axe, you’re one of those new adventurers, right?”

“You hit the nail on the head.” Sigurd answered with a satisfied smile.

“I had a feelin’-you’re real lucky, you know? Getting to travel the world amassing a fortune, meeting all sorts of excitin’ folks, gettin’ known as a hero-it’s an enviable lifestyle, that. Well, ‘cept for all the danger.”

“I’m more used to danger than you might think.”

“I don’t doubt it-that face tells a story all on its own.” Brennan said, gesturing to Sigurd’s head. “So, what attracted ya to it, even knowing the dangers?”

Sigurd placed one hand on her hip, and then nervously ran the other through her hair as she ruminated on her answer. She thought back to the days five year prior, right after one of the deadliest battles she’d ever seen. The death toll and destruction was so high that it became known as the Seventh Umbral Calamity-and it was fitting. She remembered waking up in the southern desert city of Ul’dah, where the infirmary she awoke in was so filled with battered and bloodied soldiers that she was practically considered dead. And thinking on that memory, she acquired her answer.

“I didn’t want to see any more needless death.” Sigurd decided grimly. “I’ve witnessed enough for three lifetimes. No one should have to go through that.”

“Aye, fair enough-being an adventurer is a good choice then. Get strong enough, and you’ll be able to fend off all sorts of monsters and miscreants. Just remember to prevent your own unnecessary death. Can’t save anyone if you’re six fulms under.”

Sigurd nodded with a smile in response.

“No worries, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. I’ve got a lot left to do in this world.”

The two were then interrupted by the ship’s bell, and they began to hear cannon fire as the crew scurried about to and fro on the deck. The two looked around at the sudden chaos, simultaneously shocked and confused

“Look! To the east!” Sigurd shouted, pointing out at the three vessels fast approaching them, firing as they went.

“Shite! Pirates!” Brennan replied, as the two ducked beneath the railing. “This is a bad stroke o’ luck, ain’t it?”

“Do you lot have barrels for brains?! Don’t get down, get below deck, you hare-brained jackasses!” A crew-member shouted.

“Guess we better trust in them.” Sigurd said, standing up quickly.

“Not much we can do, anyway.”

The two then nodded at each other and sprinted back into the cabin, and after a period that felt like days, the heavy din of the cannonfire slowed and stopped.

“What were they thinking, attacking a ship flying Lominsan flags? They’ve either got a boatload of balls or tiny brains.” Brennan commented.

“Possibly both.” Sigurd muttered.

Brennan chuckled slightly as the door swung open, and one of the crewman came striding in.

“You folk can relax now-we’ve evaded their ships, and we’re close enough to port that they won’t chase.” He said.

“That was close. Glad one of us kept their head. Don’t think we would’ve gotten through that otherwise.” Brennan said with a sigh. “Anyroad, since we’re close to port, why don’t we go back up on deck and have ourselves a look?”

Sigurd nodded, and the two returned topside, heading to the bow. She then leaned against the railing and gazed out into the azure expanse, letting out a sigh and hanging her head over the side, her hair dancing in the breeze.

“I wasn’t expecting that much excitement on my first day as an adventurer.” Sigurd complained. “Is all of La Noscea like this?”

“I’d be lyin’ if I said it wasn’t. By the by, this your first trip to Limsa?”

“It’s that obvious?” Sigurd said, raising her head slightly.

“Indeed it is, miss. But not to worry, as a journeyed merchant, allow me to share my wisdom as thanks for earlier!”

“Go ahead, then, I’d appreciate it.”

“Ahem. For starters, Limsa Lominsa prides itself on being Eorzea’s foremost, and to my knowledge, only naval power. Wasn’t too long ago the city was ruled by pirates, but thanks to Admiral Merlywyb, the state’s pirate turned politician, the place could almost pass for a respectable nation. ‘Course, most folk are provin’ pretty resistant to change-there’s a lot of folk still pinin’ for the old ways. Combine that with the Sahagin-the sea-dwellin’ beastmen the locals call fishbacks-as well as those schemers in the Garlean Empire up in the north, and you’ve a perfect storm of problems to deal with.”

Brennan’s lecture was then interrupted by the ringing of the bell once again-this time, to notify the passengers that they were arriving.

“That’s my cue, lass. We’ll be pullin’ into Limsa any second now.” Brennan said. “Soon, you’ll be seein’ the bountiful city of pirates and merchants blessed by Llymlaen, the goddess of navigation.”

“You’re really talking up Limsa-I’m wondering if I should be tempering my expectations.”

“Trust me, it earns its reputation-just wait and see.”

As he said that, the cliffs and towers of Limsa Lominsa came into view as the ship skated into the harbor, creaking and gently swaying as it went. It somewhat reminded Sigurd of Ul’dah, with its myriad of pathways, bridges and walkways, yet it lacked the practicality and density of Ul’dahn architecture; instead, it looked like it was patched together over the years, as though they had cut into the various stone formations and expanded from there. Still, it was more sprawling and durable than the conservative architectural focus of Gridania. The duo then walked down from the deck to the hold, as the ship slowed to a stop and weighed anchor, releasing its large side door to the waiting dock. Sigurd let out a sigh of amazement, the city catching her interest before she even set foot in it, and she barely noticed Brennan walk up behind her.

“Alright, lass, here’s where we go our separate ways. I’m off to the markets to drop my wares, and then it’s onto the highroad for me.”

“Good luck, then-thanks for the info on Limsa-and the company.”

“Actually, before I go-you never did tell me your name, did you?” Brennan noted. “Well, here’s an idea for ya-become the sort of adventurer I can brag about havin’ met, and I’ll consider us square.”

“Will do.” Sigurd said with a nod.

  
“Well, then, I’m off. You’d best be off too.” Brennan said, striding past Sigurd. “And remember, don’t die before our bargain is settled!”

Sigurd waved to him, and as he passed her, the Elezen twins she saw in the cabin swaggered past her in the midst of a conservation.

“Well, that was quite an eventful journey. I believe that will be quite enough excitement for a long while.” The brother dressed in blue said. “I believe we should hurry and get to the inn, that we might prepare for our meeting.”

“I quite enjoyed the break from the tedium of that trip, thank you very much.” The sister dressed in red retorted. “And what do you mean ‘our’ meeting? You’re the politician here!”

“Come now, politics can be very exciting! The heated arguments, the tense pressure-there’s plenty of thrills to be had!” The brother pleaded.

“For you, perhaps. Sniveling bookworm.” The sister replied.

“Reckless brute.”

“Arrogant suck-up.”

The twins’ argument continued even as their speech faded into the distance, and Sigurd stepped onto the dock and slowly strode towards the aetheryte plaza, where as with Gridania and Ul’dah, a large, light blue, glowing crystal set in a brass frame lazily rotated, taking in the scenery of Limsa Lominsa all along the way, from the myriad smells and sights of the market to the deafening cacophony of chatter and street performers in the plaza and the near blinding radiance of the many veteran adventurers showing off their rare weaponry and armor. As she passed the aetheryte, she gently placed her hand on it, and a slight tingling sensation swept over her lower arm, and she removed her palm.

Then, as she lazily strolled through the plaza, a guard noticed her and called out to her.

“You there!” The guard shouted. “Aye, I mean you. This is my district and I make it my business to know everyone that washes up in it-and I ain’t seen you around here before.”

“That’s...because I just got here.” Sigurd said, befuddled at his choice of words.

“Ah, now I see-you’re one of those adventurers fresh off the boat. In that case, you’ll want to head up the stairs on the right behind me, and talk to Baderon in the Drowning Wench up there. He’ll set you straight and get you oriented, keep ya from ending up dead in an alley.”

“Got it, thanks.” Sigurd replied.

“Oh, and stay away from the bench in the plaza. You don’t want to know what happens there.” The guard said.

“What? Why?” Sigurd questioned.

“Just stay away from it. Far, far away.” He said, his expression suddenly becoming one of a man who has seen that which should not be seen.

“O...kay.” Sigurd said, nervously waving to him and moving past.

She then walked up the aforementioned stairs and found herself standing in an aged tavern, covered with mismatched wood and tiles, and near ancient furniture that looked to be made out of scavenged ship wood. She then walked over to the counter, where a man in a blue tunic and white bandana was tending the bar and flipping through a hefty book.

“Greetin’s to ya! Be right with you.” He said, looking up with a wide smile. “What can I get you?”

“If your name is Baderon, you.” Sigurd replied.

“Oh, I see-you’re here for my side business, ain’t ya? Lookin’ to start your adventurin’ career?”

“That I am.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place! Between the pirates, the beastmen, and the many, many wild beasts, there’s no shortage o’ work here in Limsa! Now, time I introduced myself-the name’s Baderon, and as you’ve probably gathered, you’re standin’ in my establishment, the Drownin’ Wench-or as it seems to be more commonly known, the Adventurers’ Guild.”

“Are all Eorzea’s Adventurers’ Guilds based in bars?” Sigurd mused incredulously.

“That they are, miss-after all, gotta give those adventurers somewhere to drown their sorrows after a rough day!” Baderon joked. “And while this fair ol’ city may look peaceful, we get our share o’ rough days-especially since the Calamity and that thrice-damned dragon that came outta the moon. Whole lot of folk comin’ in for a break from the world these days.”

“I can understand that.” Sigurd replied.

‘ _I can understand that better than most. I was there.’_ Sigurd thought.

“It gets worse than that-that swivin’ fire-breathin’ whoreson took our memories too. Can’t rightly remember how it even went-anytime folk try, it’s like starin’ into the sun. All we remember is there was a group of adventurers that tried their best to stop it, but we can’t even remember their faces. And that’s why folk started callin’ ‘em Warriors o’ Light-because that’s all they see when they remember them.”

“I see-that makes sense.” Sigurd said, nodding.

“I’m surprised it does-were it not for the Calamity, most people might consider it an old sailor’s nonsense. Nevertheless, it’s because of those heroes that the world needs adventurers like you to be a symbol of peace and progress.” Baderon continued. “Work hard enough, and one day you’ll be one of ‘em.”

“Good-if I can use my strength to better the world, I’m all for it.”

“Glad to see you’re an enthusiastic lass-let’s reward that by gettin’ right down to business. Just sign your name in the book ‘ere and you’ll be registered as an adventurer.”

Sigurd nodded once more and Baderon passed her a quill; she then leaned over the counter, spun the book towards her and wrote her name down in the latest clear slot, then handed the quill back to her new “employer”.

“Sigurd Hackett, eh? That’s a curious name.” Baderon commented.

“How so? Seems normal enough to me.” Sigurd retorted.

“It ain’t nothin’ suspicious-there used be a fairly renowned pirate ‘round here with that last name. Rumor holds that he gave it all up and set his life of crime aside when the ol’ Admiral’s ban on piracy came down, and that he threw his life as a sailor aside after the Calamity ripped his boat apart. Caught my eye, is all. Nevertheless, you’re now a proud member of the Adventurer’s Guild! Now, let’s see, for your first job-”

“You there-adventurer. You sailed in on the last ferry, did you not?” A menacing voice interrupted. Sigurd turned around and saw that the voice came from a guard-one of the Yellowjackets-followed by two of his comrades. “The captain reported bein’ attacked by a pirate vessel, and several witnesses have testified independently that a passenger matching your description went out on deck right before the incident. Sending your pals signals, were ya?!”

“What the fuck is this nonse-” Sigurd started.

“Shush-just play along.” Baderon whispered. “A moment, officer-you’ve got the wrong fella-this fine, upstandin’ young lass is me dear departed grandma’s sister’s niece’s cousin’s closest companion. She wouldn’t be caught dead with any villainous criminal elements.”

“...Is that right?” The guard said, taken aback by the sudden defense. “You are surely aware of the recent kidnappings-you must understand we cannot be too trusting of immigrants at a time when the loyalty of even our closest friends is in doubt.”

“A fair point-no need to panic though. I keep a keen eye on my clientele. Now, what would you say to a drink or two before ya head back to your post?”

“Hmph-so long as it’s a real drink this time.”

“I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talkin’ about-my hooch may be cheap, but that don’t mean it won’t get ya nice and libated. And there’s a nice table over there just beggin’ to be sat on.”

“Hah! Fine. Come on, lads.”

As the Yellowjackets marched in formation to their table, Sigurd turned back to Baderon.

“Thanks for covering my ass there. I owe you one.” Sigurd said, letting out a sigh.

“Eh, not your fault-they’re real jumpy lately, cuffin’ anyone that even looks vaguely suspicious, which in Limsa means just about everyone in this city.” He replied. “Don’t let it get to ya. Us Lominsans are stubborn, but we’ll grow on ya.”

“We’ll see-I spent five years in Ul’dah and the wealthy folk there certainly didn’t grow on me.”

“It’s hard for the privileged there to grow on anyone. Worry not, there’s no folk like that here in Limsa-’cept the occasional tourist. Now, where were we?”

“We were about to discuss my first job.”

“Right! Let’s get your adventurer career started...but first, let’s get ya used to Limsa and the way things work ‘round here.”

_Meanwhile, in Gridania…_

Stroheim Hackett strode into the inn confidently wearing a pale cream tunic and grey slops, with an aged bandana wrapped around his forehead and an aging spear slung over his shoulder. He then marched to the desk for the Adventurer’s Guild, his bulky seven and a half foot tall Roegadyn frame causing every step to practically boom and thunder on the old wood floors of the large building. Compared to most of the people in the inn, he was a veritable titan and had the intimidating presence to match, due to his noticeably scarred face and slicked back, raven black hair.

“How can I help you, sir?” Miounne said, slightly craning her neck.

“I’d like to join the Adventurer’s Guild here.” Stroheim said, his deep, gravelly voice not at all helping his image.

“Certainly-just put your name right in this here ledger-and make sure it’s your real name. Had a few unsavory folks try that to get around their past-it won’t work on me.”

Stroheim nodded and picked up the nearby quill, signing his name in surprisingly elegant and legible handwriting.

“There we go. Oh, and I think this lad wants to join too.” Stroheim commented, gesturing to a male, red haired Miqo’te with a handmade wooden bow standing behind him-the Miqo’te nodded, his feline ears twitching slightly, and moved to stand next to him.

“Of course, the more the merrier. Same deal as this lad.” Miounne told him.

The man nodded and then reached over to sign his name as well, returning the quill to its inkwell. Miounne then picked up the book and looked at the new entries.

“Let’s see-there you are! Stroheim Hackett and Isaac Talbot. Huh-interesting name.”

“How so?” Stroheim questioned, scratching his chin.

“There was a woman that left here for Limsa not too long ago. Roegadyn adventurer lass like you-darker skin though. Had the same last name as you.”

“Hmm, must be a common name.”

‘ _That was close. I had no idea Sigurd-no. There’s no proof of that.’_ Stroheim thought. _‘Still, I’d best keep this quiet-It might be a coincidence, but I’ll need to look into it later. If folks that have heard of me in Limsa start putting two and two together, it’ll spell trouble.’_


	2. From Humble Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd, having arrived in Limsa Lominsa, begins her orientation as an adventurer.
> 
> Meanwhile, men in Ala Mhigo begin to plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter Two! This was my first attempt at diverging from canon in order to streamline things a little bit, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I've also tried expanding a little upon the groundwork of ARR...but you'll have to reach the end to see that.

_**Meteor** _

_**A Final Fantasy XIV Story** _

_**Chapter Two - From Humble Beginnings** _

“Alright, first things first, lass-how about a trip to the Marauder’s Guild, meet some fellow axe-swingin’ folks?” Baderon suggested. “Normally, I’d send a new adventurer like ya to the markets and the aetheryte, but you seem like a worldly lass what knows her way around.”

“Sounds good.” Sigurd said.

“Great! Then just head out that arch and down the walkway till you get to the end, and you’ll find it. Then you’ll want to be speakin’ with Blauthota at the front desk. Best of luck.”

“Thanks-I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Feel free to take your time, I’ve got plenty o’ work piled up already.”

Sigurd nodded and turned to head out towards the guild, the recently refurbished steel and wood bridges of Limsa’s upper decks somehow already creaking with every step. As she made her way to the guild, she took note of the many and varied races coexisting in the coastal settlement, from the diminutive Lalafells to the bulky and intimidating Hrothgar, to the draconic and angry-looking Au Ra.

Adding to that, there was a wide variety of combat disciplines and gear on display-just walking to the guild, she saw a tall, tan-skinned Au Ra wearing an eye-catching ruby red double-breasted trenchcoat and carrying a bulky red and black revolver and beside him, a fairer-skinned Hyur man carrying an ornately engraved sword and shield with a balanced set of white and navy blue plate armor with gold accents across the entire set like steel tattoos. Clearly, this was a hub for powerful adventurers, Sigurd thought.

She then turned to look out at the harbor below as she walked-it was as busy as ever, between the naval vessels crewed by the Lominsan navy, the so called “privateers” coming to weigh their hauls and collect more, and the many merchant vessels from nearly every corner of the world. It was a bustling city in every sense of the world, and yet it lacked the cramped feeling of Ul’dah or the closed off, isolationist atmosphere of Gridania.

Her train of thought was interrupted, however, by her arrival at the surprisingly unassuming Marauder’s Guild, which lacked any signs of being a haven for axe-wielders save for the sign. She then swung one mammoth door open and walked in, making her way to the reception desk, instantly noticing the heftily armored members running drills in the center, swinging their hefty bardiches and bills endlessly.

“Hi-I was told by Baderon to come here and speak to Blauthota.” Sigurd explained to the receptionist, a tall Roegadyn woman in a full set of chainmail.

“Aye, that’s me.” She responded. “Guessin’ you’re a fresh adventurer-if you’re lookin’ to get some experience with that headsplitter of yours, you’ve come to the right place.”

“Actually, I already have-”

“You’re gonna say you already have some experience, aren’t you? Aye, a fair few of your type do-it’s not totally wrong. You’ve probably gotten some good use of that axe o’ yours-probably killed a good few folks with it too.”

“Um...”

“Look, we don’t care ‘bout your past here. Good few of our members are former pirates, actually. And if we judged someone like you, we’d have to judge everyone who ever joined this guild-because ya see, the art of usin’ an axe in combat rose up alongside the art of piracy. Early raiders discovered pretty quick that the axes they were buildin’ and fixin’ their ships with were very good for hookin’ onto railings, breakin’ down doors and raisin’ all sorts o’ hell on land or sea. Anyroad, eventually, they realized this little art form of ours needed to be passed down and taught properly-and the Marauder’s Guild was formed.”

“Something must have changed, then. You don’t look very pirate-y.” Sigurd noted.

“Aye, something did change. Admiral Merlywyb came to power and signed the Galadion Accord, banning all piracy and anything related to it...except when it suits their interest.” Blauthota explained.

“I’ve heard a little about that-what do you mean by when it suits their interest?”

“Technically, piracy was banned outright-unless you’re a ‘privateer’ fightin’ those mean ol’ bastards from the north, the Garlean Empire. Guessin’ the authorities think their size makes ‘em fair game. A lot of lads disagree, thinking that by that logic there, any large company is fair game...but that’s a discussion for another time.”

“I see.”

“Anyroad! Marauder’s Guild was never the same-basically got all the pirate bits stripped out. Now, it’s a place for all folks who want to the learn the art of axe-fighting in order to take charge on the frontlines. If that’s your desire, you’re in the right place!”

“It is. I want to learn how to get the most out of my weapon.” Sigurd said confidently.

“That’s the spirit. Then all you need to do is go talk to the axemaster over there. Name’s Wyrnzoen. He’s scared off a lotta recruits in his time, so remember to stand tall and look him right in the eye.”

She then stood up and pointed to a middle-aged Roegadyn man watching the ongoing training with an eyepatch, wearing a purple war harness with pauldrons. Sigurd nodded and turned to speak with him, taking care to walk around the training members.

“Are you Wyrnzoen? I’d like to join your guild.” Sigurd asked.

“Aye, that’s me-the Axemaster. It’s an unoriginal title, but my philosophy is that one shouldn’t underestimate the value of being direct. I’m glad to hear of your interest-most would turn their nose up at our ‘uncivilized’ style-our way is not just to outfight our foes, but completely destroy them-we must be gods of death upon the battlefield, a veritable hurricane of steel and blood...unsurprisingly, folk don’t often like that way of thinking.”

“I can understand why.” Sigurd said, a slightly nervous smile on her face.

“Nevertheless, you have shown interest in our guild-but I must be sure. Are you prepared for the devastation that awaits you as a member of this guild?” Wyrnzoen asked in a grim tone.

“I am.” Sigurd replied, her face shifting to a more generic shape.

“Very well-then you are now a student of the axe. Let us begin by solving one of your most critical issues-your gear.”

“What’s wrong with my gear?” Sigurd questioned, placing her hands on her hips and scowling.

“Your axe is weathered and dull, your top exposes multiple weak points, your breeches only protect your knees, and your boots are thin and flimsy. Would you like me to go on?” Wyrnzoen answered, a smug smile on his face.

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point. How should I be fixing this, then?”

“Luckily for you, we’ve just got a shipment from the local armorer-there should be a set of brand-new plate and chain gear in your size. Come over here.”

Wyrnzoen then turned and moved to a large stacking of crates against the wall, inspecting the labels on each, and then picking up a moderately sized crate, handing it to Sigurd.

“There-that ought to fit you. You can just throw it on over what you’ve got, too.”

Sigurd nodded and placed it on a nearby table, lifting the lid. Inside was a set of shining, intensely polished steel cuirass with a tunic that hung out of the bottom with chainmail lining inside and small, angular shoulderpads, along with a pair of matching gauntlets, combined with steel and chainmail sabatons with kneepads and trousers. Sigurd smiled at the impressive set of armor, and then kneeled down and untied her bootlaces, taking them off and quietly placing them into her bag.

She then pulled out the trousers and slid them on over her breeches-as the guildmaster said, they fit over her current clothes almost perfectly. She then put on the sabatons, wincing slightly at the sensation of cold metal against her feet, and then picked up the cuirass to inspect it before throwing it over her head and sliding her head through the neck hole and poking her arms out of the strangely cold sleeves, then sliding on the gauntlets.

Now fully garbed in proper and gleaming battle gear, she inspected herself-she almost couldn’t recognize herself with her new garb-it was then that she realized that she really had cheaped out on gear when she left Gridania.

“Much better-now you’ve got the protection you’ll need bein’ at the forefront of every fight.” Wyrnzoen commented. “Can’t do anything about that axe, though. You’ll have to buy a new one or nab one from some dungeon somewhere.”

“Is taking axes from dungeons common?” Sigurd asked.

“Surprisingly so. You’ll be amazed at the sort of weapons and garb you can find in supposedly deserted places.”

“Huh. That’s odd. Why would there be-”

“Don’t question it too much, you’ll hurt your brain.”

“Y-yeah, sure. Whatever you say. So, what’s next for me?” Sigurd said.

“Next is your first lesson-you probably know how to swing that axe of yours and kill with it-but I’m willing to bet you don’t know the proper techniques for it. The drawbacks of it. The strategies to our art form.” Wyrnzoen replied. “So, follow me downstairs and I’ll show you.”

Sigurd nodded and followed the bulky Roegadyn downstairs where they came to a rudimentary arena. In it stood an axe-wielding Roegadyn dressed in a set of red plate armor, and a Miqo’te lancer, a sword and shield bearing Hyur gladiator, and an Au Ra arcanist- all dressed in blue.

“You see that lad in the red? He’s taking a combat test today. You arrived at a good time-you can observe him.” Wyrnzoen explained. “As for the others, they’re local adventurers like you. Begin the trial whenever you’re ready!”

The Roegadyn nodded and began to charge, his axe head pointed in a downward angle with the haft held at his waist. The gladiator charged forward as well, and his partners broke off to the sides-he then raised his shield, but the marauder swung in an arc from below, and the swordsman barely blocked, the impact still sending him sliding backwards.

  
“That there is one of the benefits of our art-its raw power. Even if your foe blocks, he’s still bearing some of the brunt of your strike.” Wyrnzoen explained, gesturing to the Hyur, causing Sigurd to nod in response.

As the gladiator regained his footing, the lancer charged in, spear at his hip, and the marauder barely had a second to crane his neck before the spear was rapidly accelerating towards him, colliding with his chest with a clang, causing him to lean backwards from the force and loosen his grip on his weapon. As he regained his composure, he turned as the gladiator was rushing towards him, sword raised, whilst the lancer drew back his spear and prepared to strike again.

The marauder then grabbed his axe with both hands and quickly swung it in a semi-circular arc, knocking back both the lancer and gladiator. As they landed, however, aether began to gather about the arcanist as she began to cast an offensive spell.

“And there is one of the drawbacks-with all our heavy gear and weapons, we Marauders are easy prey for ranged attackers. Still...we’re not entirely defenseless.” Wyrnzoen commented again.

The marauder then turned to the gladiator, releasing one hand from his axe and producing a chain from his back. He then unfurled it, with it jingling slightly as it fell to the floor, and raised it above his head, swinging it at the Hyur. The gladiator raised his shield in response, but the chain wrapped around it, and by extension, entrapped his arm. The marauder then yanked on the chain, dragging the gladiator to him, and then spun him around and placed the haft of his axe against his neck, pressing him against his body and turning to the arcanist.

The arcanist, having noticed too late in her incantation, then launched a burst of compressed aether at her opponent, but instead hit her ally square in the chest, causing him to let out an audible grunt. The marauder then released his inescapable hold upon the fighter and shoved him towards the mage, sending him plowing into her.

“Huh. You guys really aren’t big on fighting fair.” Sigurd noted.

“You think an angry beastman with his big ‘ol spear is gonna fight fair?” Wyrnzoen asked with one eyebrow raised. “Think a bear will fight fair?”

“You make a fair point.”

As the mage and the gladiator lifted themselves off the floor, the lancer began to charge, and then jumped into the air and brought his spear down in a wide arc, and the marauder raised his axe over his head as a shield, and sparks flew from the high speed collision of weaponry. The lancer then slammed his boot into his opponent’s face, using it as a launchpad to perform a backflip and landing on the ground with a dramatic flourish.

The marauder rubbed his scowling face, and then moved his axe to his hip and began to charge like a bull turned loose, then began to spin as he ran, swinging his axe as though he were a human tornado, and as he closed in, he raised his hefty weapon above his head and brought it down with a mighty roar and a nigh-unimaginable amount of force, enhanced by the momentum of spinning it.

The lancer raised his spear to defend against it, but there was no hope-it snapped through the wooden shaft as though cutting through paper, and the axe continued on its path, digging into the Miqo’te fighter’s armor-he let out a scream of pure, unadulterated, unfiltered agony as blood spurted from the massive gash that had made its home in his chest. He then fell to the ground with a terrifying thud, and the other fighters let out shocked and appalled gasps in response.

“That’s quite enough!” Wyrnzoen shouted. “We may be less than civil, but we’re not barbarians. You pass-we’ll speak later.”

The marauder let out a deep breath and placed his hand over his chest before nodding to the guildmaster and stepping outside the arena. The gladiator sheathed his weapons and walked over to his comrade, as the arcanist began to cast healing magics on the lancer, closing his wounds slowly but surely.

“I think I understand now where your strength comes from...and your reputation.” Sigurd commented.

“Some folk can get a little...excited. Lominsans like him have never been big on restraint-still, if you understand our techniques a little better now, all the better-and that’s why I brought you down here.”

“I...think I see. So, now what?”

“Now? You go out into that vast horizon that awaits outside the city and you break things with that axe ‘till your arms are near ready to break. Go forth and rend, maim, kill, annihilate and destroy.”

“Wait-that’s it?” Sigurd asked with a skeptical expression. “You’re not gonna make me train for 6 months?”  
“You’re an adventurer, aren’t ya?” Wyrnzoen stated simply. “Ain’t no better source of experience than that. Don’t think I could hold ya here if I wanted to anyroad.”

“Huh. Okay, sure.”

“Now, you’ve got your gear, get out and get cuttin’!”

Sigurd nodded and ascended the stairway back to the top level, exiting through the wide doors she entered earlier that afternoon. She then returned to the Drowning Wench, the sun still shining brightly upon the ivory white stone the city was built upon, and found Baderon still just as hard at work as when she left.

“Ah, you’re back. You get acquainted with the Guild over there?” Baderon asked.

“Yeah-I joined up with them, but the guildmaster told me that the best experience was adventurer work.” Sigurd explained.

“I wouldn’t blame him-ain’t no substitute for getting out there and learning by doing!” He responded enthusiastically. “Which is why I’m proud to announce I’ve found a perfect first job for ya-it’s at Summerford Farms, just outside the city-the owner, Staelwyrn is an old mate of mine, and he’s looking for some extra hands for all sorts of work. Ya see, he runs a farm full of ‘reformed’ pirates-naturally, there’s some of his folk that don’t take to well to workin’ the land...or workin’ at all, for that matter.”

“Great-you’re a big help.”

“Don’t mention it-pay me back by leavin’ a good impression with the old coot. Anyroad, just head on out the Zephyr Gate and head northeast. Best of luck!”

“Right!”

Sigurd nodded excitedly and marched downstairs, axe in hand, then headed straight out and onto the bridge separating the mildly civilized Limsa Lominsa from the less tamed La Noscea, and as she stepped onto the wild growing, damp grass of the new land that awaited her, a single thought crossed her mind-

‘ _This is it. This is where it all begins.’_

_Meanwhile_

_Ala Mhigo, Imperial Province of Gyr Abania_

Nero tol Scaeva wiped his brow in a fit of raw exasperation-he was born in the freezing northern reaches of Ilsabard, at the absolute seat of the Garlean Empire’s power, and anyone could see he was not made for such arid locales as this-he’d begun the day in a full suit of bright red Magitek battle armor, and now, as the afternoon sun reached its zenith, he was down to his tunic and a pair of cargo pants, for no matter how much clothing he removed, it never seemed to be enough to escape the effects of that horrendous ball of gas above him. Just then, he heard the dull clicking and clanking of Magitek Reapers, let out a deep breath, and turned around to see a short man in a Garlean tunic escorting them.

“Lord Scaeva!” The man called out. “Where should I be taking this?”

Nero pinched his temples as he thought-logistics was not his fortitude, and definitely not his favorite duty.

“That transport over there, B7-18.” Nero said, pointing to a bulky Garlean airship to his west. “It should do fine. Remember to fold the Reapers into transport mode.”

“Understood, sir!”

The man quickly thumped his right wrist against his chest with a closed fist, saluting him before turning and shepherding the warmachina to the airship described. Nero let out a groan and looked up towards the skies, the only respite from the endless rays of light being the massive black airships coming to and fro all day long.

“Why did we get stuck with this job?” Nero wondered aloud.

“Because we’re the ones best suited for it.” A deep voice answered.

Nero spun around to see Rhitahtyn, one of his fellow officers, and a man renowned for his rise through the ranks despite not being a native Garlean-he was the polar opposite to Nero in almost every way, from his muscular, stout frame to his highly intimidating black and gold battlegear with its large horned helmet. He was clearly much more tolerating of the heat than Nero.

“Oh? And what makes us best suited for it? Pray tell.” Nero asked wryly.

“Simple-we’re the only ones who can.” Rhitahtyn responded earnestly. “The fourth and sixth legions are too tied up in their own plans to carry out the Empire’s wishes-although, the sixth still believes they’re doing so, in their own way. The seventh legion is practically nonexistent after that plan with the lesser moon and the loss of their commander. And the twelfth legion and their commander are more than content to drain the Far East dry.”

“That was a rhetorical question-allow me to rephrase my original question. Why are we, respected Imperial officers, loading transports in this blasted box canyon?!”

Rhitahtyn walked up to Nero and patted him on the shoulder with his armored gauntlet.

“Again, because we men of the fourteenth legion are the ones best suited for it. Someone has to lead these men, and Lord Baelsar is preoccupied preparing our invasion.”

He then released his hand and strode past the lean officer, heading into the desert city turned staging ground.

“The fool.” Nero muttered to himself. “He still believes I do this out of loyalty to van Baelsar. He should know by now-my motives have ever been my own.”

He then heard the guttural roar of an airship engine and turned around to see the ship he pointed to earlier taking off to join its brethren, watching it as it glided over the wide salt flats surrounding Ala Mhigo before disappearing over the mountains.

“It’s almost time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As you can probably tell, in some areas of this story, I'll be jumping ahead and in some, I'll be slowing down to put more focus on certain characters or storylines. The reason for that is simple-Final Fantasy XIV is gigantonormous. Faithfully adapting the entire story of ARR just to tell Sigurd's story would take my entire life, so I'm gonna avoid that.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading, and see you next chapter!


	3. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd sets to work in La Noscea, and finds herself stumbling into a conflict far greater than she could imagine.

_**Meteor** _

_**A Final Fantasy XIV Story** _

_**Chapter Three - Awakening** _

Sigurd marched up to Staelwyrn’s usual spot at Summerford Farms, dragging a slacking farmhand by his ear, then swung him around and pushed him towards the bulky Roegadyn foreman.

“Here’s the last one. He was being a little uncooperative.” Sigurd said.

“That’s all of them-my thanks, lass.” Staelwyrn confirmed with a pleased nod. “Hmm...all of them except Sevrin, that is.”

“That guy with the red bandana? Coulda sworn I sent him your way.”

“Worry not-it’s no fault of yours that he wriggled his way out of coming back. It’s happened more times than I count. Next time I see him, I’ll put him in his proper place.”

Sigurd nodded in response. “So, what’s next? Anything left to get done?” She asked.

“Yes...but this next task requires a bit of discretion. Follow me.”

He then turned and entered the farmhouse behind him, gesturing for Sigurd to join him. She followed quietly, and then joined him at a table set behind a wooden partition.

“I’ve no doubt you’ve heard rumors of the recent kidnappings-folk have been disappearing left and right, like they’ve been plucked off the face of Hydaelyn.” Staelwyrn began quietly.

“Yeah-a couple of guards accused me of being involved with it when I first arrived.” Sigurd noted.

“Not surprising-they’re desperate to catch these miscreants.” He commented. “And I think I’ve a clue who they are-lately, there’s been some folks of questionable character-lads with blue tattoos on their faces, and they’ve been creeping up to the edges of my fields and spying on my boys.”

“Sounds like them alright.”

“Problem is, that’s what my farmhands have started thinking as well. They’re convinced they’re the kidnappers, and getting them out of the house in the morning has become an exercise in futility.”

“Sounds rough-I remember hearing about how your land grant is dependent on how much work you do.”

“That’s right-we’re all former pirates, so the Admiral wants regular proof that we’re not a bunch o’ layabouts-and the lads being too scared to work is putting that in jeopardy. That’s where you come in.”

“How so?” Sigurd asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I want you to do an independent investigation of these thugs-would you be willing to help?” Staelwyrn replied.

“Sure, you got it.” Sigurd said with a nod.

“Good to hear. Sooner we close this chapter, sooner this place will start resembling a proper farm again. Now, I suggest starting with a cave nearby called Seasong Grotto-my boys have been saying they’ve seen our miscreant visitors moving in and out of there.”

“Understood. I’ll check it out.”

Sigurd stood up and marched out of the farmhouse, then reached into her bag and pulled out a faded map, tracing the path to the grotto with her finger, then looking up to see a large, rocky outcropping in the distance. She nodded to herself and began to head down the winding, grassy road over to it, and once she arrived, she walked around to the front of it and found a sloping path lit softly by symmetrical braziers, and a cave with a stone monument inside sitting at the end-the cave was empty, but Sigurd still walked inside cautiously, expecting an ambush-yet when she reached the monument, none came. She then let out a sigh of relief and began to inspect the large monument, its faded words barely legible after the long march of time.

“I am the waves that bear. I am the winds that guide.” An intelligent-sounding voice said. “I am the evening stars. I am the morning sky. I am born of the sea-and there shall I die.”

Sigurd wheeled around quickly expecting a threat, but instead found a short, white-haired Miqo’te woman in a white tunic with a wooden wand bearing leaves and a strange pair of goggles hanging from her neck.

“...Thus reads the Sailor’s Requiem carved into that stone.” the woman finished. “Such words well describe the manner in which the citizenry of Limsa Lominsa go through their lives. It is both a litany against misfortune out on the waves, and a prayer that those who perish on land might find their way back to the sea.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that-that’s a nice thought.” Sigurd said absentmindedly. “Wait-what are you doing here?”

“The same reason as you, I’d gather. You’re the adventurer I’ve seen around Summerford Farms, so you must be investigating the kidnappings, as am I. Unfortunately, it would appear we have both missed our mark.”

“I’ve just started, how would I miss my mark that-”

Sigurd’s sentence was then interrupted by a large booming noise, and she looked to the entrance of the cave, where a large, lanky bipedal monster with stone-colored skin and moss on its back and head began to rush in, its mouth agape to show its myriad of teeth.

“...On second thought, perhaps we are on the right path after all.” The woman said, correcting herself. “As I suspected, the aetheric disturbance here is no natural occurrence.”

“Neither is us getting attacked in here!” Sigurd shouted, unsheathing her axe and holding it at her waist. “Now, kill now, talk later!”

The woman nodded and then pulled out her wand. Sigurd then ran forward, hunched over, and grabbed a rock before lobbing it at the head of the beast. The monster let out a roar, and charged towards Sigurd alone, provoked by the stone. She readied her axe and swung it at the giant in an upwards diagonal arc. She then spun it around in her hands and brought it down in a heavy strike, drawing blood almost immediately. The beast let out a guttural roar and reared back its long, skinny arms, then brought them together quickly. Sigurd dropped to the floor, and the attack missed her by a hair. She then saw a large clump of stone fly towards the beast out of the corner of her eye, and saw the Miqo’te woman casting a spell with her tree branch-like wand. She then let loose a ball of compressed wind, and their target screamed in agony.

“The wind exacerbates the pain of open wounds.” She explained quickly. “It’s rather useful.”

“I’ll say.” Sigurd commented.

However, things took a turn for the worse, as the roar attracted two of its smaller brethren, and they came charging in.

“Take care of them! I can handle this one!” The woman shouted.

Sigurd nodded and charged forward, held her axe behind her, and then let loose a wide, arcing swing that cut into the gut of the one in front-she then took the momentum from that swing, raised her axe above her head, and brought it down on the next beast as he ran forward. The two let out a guttural groan and fell to the ground, and Sigurd removed her axe and turned to focus on the main threat. She then ran towards it and once more raised her axe above her head, then jumped upwards and sank her weapon into the creature’s back, and while holding on, she began to pummel it with her sabatons, emitting screams of pain from the beast. She then swung backwards and gave one heavy kick, and the monster groaned as it fell to the ground.

“Whew. Well, there’s my exercise for the day.” Sigurd said, removing her axe and hopping off the beast’s flat head. The conjurer went to inspect the body silently, and Sigurd then noticed a strange, blue crystal out of the corner of her eye. She walked over to inspect it, and it began to float softly, emitting a gentle humming noise and slightly glowing. It then settled between her hands, and her vision suddenly went white.

When she opened her eyes, she was in darkness, the glow of the crystal the only source of illumination-then, a mysterious cyan sigil appeared beneath her feet with six empty circles in it. One then began to glow blue, and a ball of energy appeared from it and flew upwards towards a soft white light above her, creating a bright flash that briefly blinded Sigurd.

“Hear...feel...think.” A voice echoed in her head.

Sigurd opened her eyes slowly, and could see a bright orange at the edge of her vision-she looked upwards, and saw a circular cloud formation with a brightly glowing sun at the center, much like the eye of a hurricane-but more importantly, she saw meteors falling from the sun indiscriminately. As they whizzed past her, she continued to stare at the light, and her vision went white once again. When she opened her eyes...the dark was gone, and she was floating in an azure sea of stars.

  
_‘_ _This is just like that recurring dream.’_ Sigurd thought _. ‘What in the seven hells is going on here?’_

“Crystal...bearer...” The earlier voice said. “I am Hydaelyn. All made one.”

Sigurd looked around and saw a large, unrefined blue crystal floating towards her.

“I’ve gotta be drunk, or high, or something.” Sigurd thought. “A rock is talking to me, telling me it’s the planet.”

“A light there once was that shone throughout this realm...yet it hath since grown dim.” The crystal said, ignoring Sigurd’s prior comment. “And as it hath faltered, so hath darkness risen up in its stead, presaging an end to life. For the sake of all, I beseech thee: deliver us from this fate!”

“I can’t if I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sigurd protested. “What darkness?! Is it the Garleans?”

“The power to banish the darkness dwelleth in the Crystals of Light. Journey forth and lay claim to them.” Hydaelyn continued.

“Hey! Answer my question first!” Sigurd shouted.

More crystals then appeared, and the one she spoke to joined the rest in a lazy circle, as a gigantic, teardrop shaped crystal rose up to sit in the middle.

“By thy deeds shall the Crystals reveal themselves to thee.”

“Oh, well, how polite of them.”

“Only believe, for the Light liveth in thy heart.”

“ I don’t have much of a choice here, do I?”

Silence. Sigurd then felt the presence of another person, and she turned to see a bulky Roegadyn male with sea-foam green skin and  smooth,  jet black hair. Next to him, there was a tan Miqo’te man with  unkempt, bright red hair. The two then put their arms at their sides and began to float upward, leaving a blue trail behind them.  She then looked to her other side and saw a short Au Ra woman in a mage’s garb with  neatly trimmed  navy blue hair.  She then began to fly alongside the other two, and Sigurd placed her arms at her side and followed suit-and as if propelled by magic, she began to float towards a glowing light above the large crystal.

“Go now, my child, and shine thy light on all creation.” Hydaelyn said, as Sigurd’s vision went white once more.

She then awoke in the grotto, flat on her back,  and sat up slowly,  groaning noisily .

“Awake again, are we?” The conjurer asked sarcastically. “Ah, here we are-the poor creature’s fury was kindled with cruel forethought.”

“ How so?” Sigurd asked groggily.

“See this blade?” She replied, pulling out a seaman’s dagger. “I found it in this goobbue’s back- I have seen knives of this kind before .  They are commonly used  for the cutting of rope . ”

“ Pirates. As expected.”

“Indeed.  In any event, you seem much recovered from your sudden...affliction.”

“It’s the weirdest thing-there was this crystal on the ground, so I picked it up, and it started floating. Next thing I know, there’s this giant crystal telling me to collect more of ‘em.”

“ I beg your pardon? A ‘giant crystal’? I’m sure I don’t-Oh. Well, well-this has been a day of unexpected revelations.”

“Excuse me, what the fuck?” Sigurd asked, a hint of anger building in her voice. “The hell is going on?”

“ Quite a lot, I’m afraid, and I don’t have the time to explain it.  I must continue my investigation-in the meantime, I suggest you deliver this knife to the one who hired you, along with a warning  concerning the pirates .” She said, handing over the knife. “ The days ahead promise little rest, I fear.” 

“Beginning to see that, yeah.”

‘ _But I knew what I was getting into when I started this job.’_ Sigurd thought.  _ ‘Just wish people would be more clear about what’s up with these crystals and the darkness and whatnot-makes it hard to be a hero when you don’t know who you’re fighting against.’ _

“May our paths cross again under the light of the crystal.” She said, turning to leave the cave.  Sigurd followed soon after, returning to the farm  where she found Staelwyrn returned to his usual spot in front of the farmhouse .

“ Sigurd! I’m glad to see you returned alive and well!  My boys say there was a lotta noise coming from the grotto. ” Staelwyrn said. “What news do you bear?”

“ Bad news.” Sigurd said, passing over the dagger. “It’s definitely pirates.  Found this in the back of a rampaging goobbue. ”

“And this knife is your evidence?”

“Yep.”

“Then that confirms it-me and all my boys carry knives  like that .  It’s practically pirate standard issue.  And now, I’m thinking those folks creepin’ about  are  pirates, come to lure my farmhands back to a life of plunder-and that they sent that monster after you to silence you.  My thanks for telling me this-I’d better warn my  yeo men about this.  In the meantime, here’s your payment for a job well done. ”

He handed over a hefty sack of glittering gold coins, and Sigurd slipped it into her bag.

“Quick question, by the way-do you know a Miqo’te woman with an odd pair of goggles?” Sigurd asked. “I ran into one in the grotto, and she struck me as strange.”

“A Miqo’te with an odd pair of goggles? Ah, that’s Y’shtola! She’s been around La Noscea for a while now-her studies of the aether often bring her out here.  She may look suspicious, but she’s not the sort to associate with miscreants like these kidnappers. ”

“ Got it, good to know.”

“ Where trust should be lacking, however, is in those among my farmers that aren’t willing to give up their pirate pasts. The temptation to return to an easy-and violent-life may be too much to resist .”

“ Yeah, I’ve noticed a disturbing amount of slackers around the farm.” 

“I won’t deny it-I’d sooner hire you for the sake of getting things done, but then they’d never learn- and I’ve tried to drill it into their heads that  this is meant to keep ‘em out of prison, but they just don’t get it.  Speaking of folks that don’t get it, I’ve another favor to ask, if you don’t mind. ”

“ Sure, I’ve got time.”

“Thanks-remember Sevrin? The farmhand you sent back to me earlier today?”

“ Yeah, you said he slips out of work a lot.”

“Yes, indeed-and he’s done so again, and taken his boys with him. Would you mind dragging him back again? You can start by checking outside the farm gates-some letter came for him and now he’s sneaking about again-and I get the feeling he’s planning something serious this time.”

“I can guess why.” A bulky Roegadyn farmhand interjected, striding up to the duo. “A couple of pirates stole some of our tools to melt into blades, and I saw Sevrin meetin’ with ‘em before they did the deed!”

“That ungrateful little cur! Alright, Sigurd-go ask Grynewyda at the aetheryte-she’s a Roegadyn lass, and she was the last to see him!” Staelwyrn shouted, his face turning redder by the second.

“Will do. You want him brought back here again?”

“If you can-the bugger bites me every chance he gets, but I can’t bring myself to cut him loose. Suppose he reminds me of my younger self.”

Sigurd then slipped behind the house and found the aforementioned Roegadyn.

“You Grynewyda? I was told you saw Sevrin go through here. Know where he went?” Sigurd asked.

“You bet I do-him and those daft buggers what follow him were headed out to the canyon, singing about drinking themselves stupider-said I should join them! The nerve.” She replied.

“Thanks, that helps a lot!”

Sigurd then glanced out at the horizon, the sun beginning to set slowly, and saw the aforementioned canyon-she then broke out into a sprint and charged over the fields to her quarry, then jogged down the wooden stairs running along the side of the cliff, and at the bottom, found an exhausted Hyur farmhand on his hands and knees.

“You alright?” Sigurd asked, extending a hand. “Where’s Sevrin?”

“Sevrin’s busy betraying us in the canyon, that’s where he is!” The man raged as Sigurd helped him to his feet. “Claimin’ to take the lads out for a drink, only to lead us into a trap! It don’t get much lower than that!”

“No, it doesn’t-now, where’s the rest of your group?”

“They’re still trapped in the canyon-I’ve learned to stay a step ahead of Sevrin, but the others weren’t so lucky.”

“Got it. Get back to the farm.”

“Trust me, I’ll never leave it again after this!”

The man then practically flew up the stairway, and Sigurd proceeded deeper into the canyon, finding both a Lalafell and Roegadyn farmhand and then, the bandana wearing slippery blonde she was looking for...along with a trio of pirates with blue tattoos taking turns beating him. She then pressed herself up against a wall in the canyon and listened in on their conversation.

“A true knave! You betray even yourself, Sevrin!” The leader, a bald and pale Roegadyn with half his face painted blue and an aged war harness, said. “We were prepared to overlook the matter of your desertion on the condition that you provided us with suitable replacements-that was the agreement! But your latest change of heart leaves your debt unpaid-few are the men who betray the Serpent Reavers twice. You will not do so a third time.”

“Sorry, I’ve got business with him still.” Sigurd interjected, appearing with axe in hand.

“Hmph...very well. Then you can help pay his debt-with your blood!” The man shouted, readying his own axe.

As they prepared to duel, out of the corner of her eye, Sigurd saw a man wearing ominous black robes with dark purple stencils and various silver spikes on the shoulders and gloves, and a jet black, featureless mask over his face-and though she couldn’t remember where, seeing him caused her to feel a tug on her memory.

“ _O mournful voice of creation! Send unto me a creature of the abyss, my thrall to command, that I may smite mine enemies!_ ” The man said, speaking in a language that Sigurd felt she should not know, but understood fluently nonetheless. As he said that, the nearby rocks, boulders and stones began to float and join together, swiftly forming into an intimidating and tall golem. The pirates let out sly smirks, and then ran, leaving Sigurd and Sevrin with the giant clump of rocks and mana in front of them.

The golem began to slowly lumber over to Sevrin, its every step thundering and rumbling under the weight of its body. Sigurd glanced over at the weakened farmhand and then raised her axe in the air.

“Hey, you! Look at me!” Sigurd taunted. “Yeah, I’m talking to you-fight me!”

The golem let out a low rumble and then raised its hefty fist and swept it in a horizontal arc. Sigurd grabbed her axe with both hands and held it out in front of her, and the fist landed with a resounding clang as the force sent Sigurd skating backwards through the dirt.

“Note to self-that one hurts bad.” Sigurd thought aloud, regaining her composure. She then ran back in, axe held behind her back, and as she got into the range, she let it fly into the golem’s knee. Her axe let out a dull clank, and there was a new crack in its joint. She prepared to swing again, flipping her axe to the other side, when the golem raised its arms and a glowing, gently pulsating orange cone appeared on the ground in front of it as a crystal in its chest began to glow softly.

“What the-what is this?” Sigurd wondered. “And why am I standing in it?!”

She then pressed her axe close to her chest and dove through the golem’s legs, right as it hunched over and let out a spray of small stones and dirt in front of it. After noticing that its attack had failed, the golem turned around, rumbling once more, then reared back its fist and took a swing, causing Sigurd to jump backwards-as soon as she did, an orange circle appeared on the ground just in front of her. She stepped back slightly to be safe, and the golem proceeded to leap into the air and come down with a boom, kicking up a prodigious amount of dust around where it landed.

“I see now.” Sigurd commented. “I’m not sure how...but I can see its intent, and where its attacks will land.”

The golem then let out a low rumble, and its fighting style seemed to drastically change. It began to run towards Sigurd, then took a quick swing with its right fist, and Sigurd parried it, striking its hand with her axe. The golem reeled back, and then swung its left fist, causing Sigurd to dodge to her right- the golem then raised its right again, and swung with its palm facing upwards, forcing Sigurd to block with her axe and take the hit once more - as before, it sent her sliding, so she dug her axe into the dirt and used it  as a brake.  She removed her axe with a thunk, and then gripped it tightly with both hands and charged back in-she then flipped it in her hands, swung it behind her, and then cleaved what was left of the golem’s knee-the creation let out a dull groan and fell to its feet.  Sigurd then flipped her axe back over, positioned it over her shoulder, and let it fly into the golem’s core in its chest,  landing with an encouraging clank .  The core cracked, and small bits of lightning began to fizzle from it, as the golem’s limbs began to fall apart, landing in a  messy  heap on the ground.

“That the golem could be vanquished...” The mage muttered, having found his way to the top of a nearby waterfall. “That woman is no ordinary adventurer. I shall have to account for that in future encounters.”

Sigurd glanced up to find him, but she saw nothing but a rushing waterfall.

‘ _Huh. Coulda swore I heard that mage.’_ Sigurd thought. _‘Wonder if he’s related to all this talk of darkness I heard from the crystal.’_

She then heard light footsteps running towards her, and turned to see Y’shtola behind her.

“The snake slithered away.” She commented with a sigh. “I am only glad he did not have the chance to sink his fangs more deeply into you.”

“I’ve been through worse. It was fine.” Sigurd said with a smile, sheathing her axe.

“If you say so-still, that was no ordinary monster.”

“Agreed-if my ecology knowledge is correct, golems aren’t native to La Nosc-”

Sigurd then began to hear a rumbling in her ears, and her head started to feel heavy. She placed her fingers to her temples, and her vision began to go blurry…

...And then, there was nothing.


	4. The Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd unlocks a surprising new power, and her adventures at the farm come to a close.
> 
> Meanwhile, in Gridania, dark shadows continue to encroach on Eorzea.

_**Meteor** _

_**A Final Fantasy XIV Story** _

_**Chapter Four – The Echo** _

When Sigurd’s vision returned, she found she was in a body not her own, her sight ever so slightly foggy and her body seemingly shrunk to a noticeably shorter frame, and found herself walking through Limsa Lominsa’s lower decks. She tried to stop herself and figure out what was happening, but this body would not respond, as though her limbs simply weren’t connected to her mind. She felt like a prisoner in the head of this newfound form, and she then saw a group of pirates conversing in a dark corner of one of the rough-hewn stairwells of the city, and the new body pressed itself against a nearby wall to hide.

“These pirates do not belong to any of the known Lominsan factions.” She said, speaking with Y’shtola’s much more intellectual tone of voice. “Whom then do they serve? The beast tribes? Surely not-but the timing of their appearance coincides all too neatly with the recent surge in Sahagin and kobold activity. Something is afoot; the question is...what? Could it be that the tribes are planning to summon their primals?”

‘ _Am I...seeing her memories?’_ Sigurd thought. _‘I think I might be-this is a whole new level of strange.’_

“Twelve help us if it should prove so. Limsa would be hard-pressed to keep a single primal at bay, let alone two. But all is yet speculation-I must find evidence.” Y’shtola continued.

Y’shtola then strode off towards the docks, and Sigurd heard a slight buzzing in her ears as the scenery changed to that of Limsa Lominsa’s ever busy docks, her vision slightly and briefly fading.

“The seas continue to rise...while the lesser moon continues to fall.” Y’shtola commented, gazing out into the bay. She then looked upwards and, despite it being midday, clearly saw a large red moon with large rectangular spires sticking out of it, progressively advancing towards the surface.

‘ _Dalamud...little red bastard.’_ Sigurd observed.

“Ilm by ilm, the world becomes ever more unlike itself. It is as Louisoix foretold. The coming of chaos has rendered the laws of nature mutable, blurring the boundary between the material and aetherial planes-little now stands between us and the primals...but they are not here yet. Though time be against us, hope shall ever be on our side-never did the creed of Sharlayan ring more true.”

‘ _Sharlayan, huh? So that’s where you’re from.’_ Sigurd mentally commented. _‘Now, what’s this about primals I keep hearing?’_

Sigurd’s thoughts were then interrupted by a change of scenery yet again, as Sigurd found her vision painted in garish shades of green and blue, as vaguely humanoid, multicolored clumps moved to and fro about the docks.

“Never did I dream that I would possess the means to see aether-yet now that I do, I do begin to take it for granted.” Y’shtola commented, placing a hand on her goggles. “How swiftly do the wonders of Sharlayan seem commonplace...”

‘ _I wish they weren’t-that wonder of Sharlayan is giving me a migraine.’_

Y’shtola was then distracted by a small Hyur child offering her a flower, and removed her goggles.

“Here, for you.” The child said. “Have you come for the festivities? Today the Maelstrom officially makes that great hole in the sea its training ground!”

Y’shtola nodded and accepted the flower, as fireworks began to boom thunderously in the distance. She then heard a light beeping noise and put her goggles back on, activating them with a whir.

“Wait-a disturbance in the aetheric flow, but whence does it emanate? Seasong Grotto, perhaps?” She commented to herself, scanning the surrounding area frantically.

‘ _This must have been right before I left for the grotto myself.’_ Sigurd thought.  _ ‘So that’s what she meant by aetheric disturbance.’ _

Y’shtola then set out for the grotto in a rush, as Sigurd’s vision faded once again and the sound of rushing water entered her ears.

“What have we here? Can you walk?” She heard Y’shtola say  as she returned to her feet,  turning to see her helping Sevrin to his feet. She then placed a finger to her ear and began to speak  to some unseen personage . “’Tis I. Regrettably, no. He eluded me. Understood-I will inform the commodore.”  She then turned back to Sigurd.

“You collapsed from your exertions. Are you suitably recovered?” She asked. “Sevrin here has apprised me of all that transpired. His account shed some light on how you came to be attacked by a golem of all things.”

“ It was a mage, right? I could swear I saw him.” Sigurd offered.

“Indeed it was-common pirates could not hope to control such a thing, so arcane are its workings... but then these tattooed wretches are no common pirates-they are the minions of the Sahagin. As for their purpose...well, I shall get to the bottom of it. ”  Y’shtola confirmed.

“ That’s what I thought- but I wonder if it’s connected to those primals?” Sigurd  thought aloud .

“Excuse me?”

“It’s nothing-don’t mind me.”

“Very well. Nevertheless, such things will have to wait, as first I must escort Sevrin back to his place of employment. Staelwyrn will be wondering what has become of him-and you as well, I’d wager. I will bear word of your survival, but I’m certain he would like to thank you in person. Oh, and before I forget-he may not have told you of me. My name is Y’shtola.”

“Yep, knew that.”

“What? Ah-he must have told you of me after all. Well, that makes things simpler. Anyroad, I am a naturalist of sorts, surveying the aether in the hope that it might offer up some clue as to our present predicament.”

“Nice to meet you-for real this time. I’m Sigurd.”

“ Well, now I know who to thank.” Sevrin interjected. “I’d say I owed my life, but that don’t cover it. If it weren’t for you, my friends would be dead-’tis a debt I can never repay; but I’ll not make things worse by runnin’ away. Take me to Summerford Farms, and I’ll face the consequences.”

“Good-go on ahead, and I’ll catch up.” Sigurd said, pointing to the walkway up the canyon.

Sevrin bowed politely, and then walked off to face his punishment.

“For reasons I cannot fathom, you seem...” Y’shtola began.

“Hmm?”

“Forgive me. Mayhap we shall have a chance to speak again when I have marshaled my thoughts. Until our paths next cross, farewell.”

“See you around, then.” Sigurd said, waving lightly. Y’shtola then waved  as well  and left to join Sevrin. “She’s a very strange person...and this new ability of mine  is  even stranger.  Twelve help me, what have I stumbled into? ”

Left standing in the canyon and with many questions, Sigurd then began the trek began to the farm, the moon still illuminating the windswept plains  of La Nosea - she then returned to Staelwyrn, noticing that Sevrin had already returned, and judging by his gloomy expression, already been yelled at.

“Ah! Knew you’d return!” Staelwyrn said enthusiastically with an ear-to-ear grin. “Y’shtola delivered Sevrin here just a little while ago-tales of your heroic deeds precede you!”

“I simply did what I was hired to do.” Sigurd said confidently. “Speaking of, where’s the rest of the farmhands I found?”

“Oh, those lads? The rest of ‘em came shufflin’ back too, all wearin’ the same haunted expression.”

“It’s me who’s to blame for that-that and the rest.” Sevrin said. “I was once a Serpent Reaver.”

“A thrall to the Sahagin? Seven hells-Reavers may look and sound and act like pirates, but they’re naught more than thugs for those fishbacks.”

Sevrin nodded in response.

“Us pirates ain’t much for laws, but there’s things we won’t do. We’ve got a code, see-but the Reavers never followed a word of it, and a few years back, they started snatchin’ law-abidin’ Lominsans.  I’d only just taken my oath when our captain bent the knee to his new Sahagin masters. I knew I had to get away-so I crept off one night, got myself a new name, and came here. ”

“ And lemme guess, your secret didn’t stay very secret?” Sigurd commented  with a raised eyebrow .

“Not for long-the Reavers caught word of what I’d done pretty soon. Usually, the penalty for desertion is death, but the Reavers offered me a way out-my freedom in exchange for my mates.”

“Then, that letter was a summons from the Reavers?” Staelwyrn asked. Sevrin nodded again as confirmation.

“I dunno what I was thinkin’!” Sevrin then cried loudly. “I wasn’t bloody thinkin’! Too busy soilin’ myself!”

“Aye, but you got there in the end, didn’t you? When the time came, you made the right decision. The men say little to me, but I hear ‘em talk of how you stood up to the Reavers at the last-of how you tried to give your life to save theirs.”

“Be that as it may, no deed, however good, can atone for the crime of betrayin’ your fellows. That’s why I’m going to hand myself over to the Yellowjackets-I’ll bring shame to the farm no more.”

“Hm...you’ll hear no arguments from me.” Staelwyrn said. “Each man must sail accordin’ to his own moral compass. I just hope yours guides you back here someday. You’ll always have a place at Summerford Farms.”

Sevrin nodded once again, and then turned to leave, his footsteps slightly echoing in the dark.

“I owe you a debt too, Sigurd-not once have you let me down.” Staelwyrn said. “Thanks for savin’ the men of my farm.”

“ No problem- all in a day’s work .” Sigurd said.

“If I could ask one more favor of you-tell Baderon what’s happened. From start to finish. I’m certain he’d put in a good word for Sevrin if he knew the whole story, and he’s one of the few people I know that the Yellowjackets’ll listen to.”

“Will do. See you around.”

Sigurd waved to him and then turned and left the farm as well, returning to Baderon’s pub atop the upper decks of Limsa Lominsa, now filled with the sound of many briefly stopped sailors, prideful merchants and off-duty guardsmen. She then walked up to the counter, Baderon’s ledger turned in for mugs left, right and center.

“Hey there, Sigurd! You get that job done at Summerford?” Baderon asked jovially.

“I did-and it’s quite a story.” Sigurd replied.

She then recounted her myriad adventures at Summerford while Baderon listened intently.

“...Bloody hells.” Baderon commented. “Life on the farm ain’t quite how I pictured it. I gave you that job just to show you the ropes of adventuring; I wasn’t expecting you to give the Yellowjackets their first big break on the kidnappings in moons!”

“I told you-it’s quite a story.”

“Well, I certainly believe that now-speaking of which, you needn’t worry about Sevrin. The Yellowjacket that hands out the punishments is a good mate o’ mine. I’m sure I can convince him to commute the lad’s sentence from hanging to keelhauling.”

Sigurd shot him a piercing glare in response.

“Ah, I’m only kiddin’! I’ll see he’s treated fair-I think I can talk the guards into simple imprisonment. Now, sounds like you did everything Staelwyrn asked of you and more, justifying my generous finder’s fee in the process! Much obliged, miss!”

“Glad I could help bring you profit.” Sigurd said sarcastically.

“Don’t worry, I’m not skimpin’ on your reward-as payment for a job well done, you’ll be getting free room and board for the foreseeable future here at the Wench’s inn.”

“I would have preferred gil, but hey, I’ll take it.”

“Adventuring is a tough business-you don’t rest your bones every now and then, you’ll break ‘em. Fighting ain’t nearly as fun with a shattered arm-so take that free bed. You’ve earned it.”

“Good point. Thanks for the room, then.”

“ You’re most welcome-now, you’ve had a long day. Rest up, and I’ll see about wranglin’ up another job for you.”

Sigurd nodded and walked past the reception desk,  the innkeeper throwing her a key, and up into the surprisingly spacious and comfortable inn-room,  a far cry from the aged,  salvaged-looking decor of the Drowning Wench,  with an excellent view of Limsa’s harbor-Baderon had spoiled her . She dropped her bag on the table, pulled her axe off her back and set it against one of the chairs, then quickly shucked her armor,  then stripped down to her tank top and breeches , lobbing  the gear into a messy heap at the foot of the bed,  before falling onto the bed face first with a heavy thunk.

“ I know I decided to become an adventurer to play hero, but gods damn, I didn’t expect this much to be dumped on me.” Sigurd commented. “I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

A s she dozed off to sleep, her heavy eyelids almost instantly falling, her bag tipped over and the azure crystal  she  found in Seasong Grotto fell out on to the table with a  light  tink.

_Meanwhile_

_Eastern Black Shroud_

Stroheim Hackett opened his eyes slowly as the sun slowly crept into the small camp he and Isaac had established the night prior, swatting his hair out of his face as the embers of the campfire smoldered, their life at its end. He glanced over and saw Isaac inspecting his bow against the opposite tree, the sun illuminating his naturally tan skin, bright red hair and glaringly yellow tunic.

“You been on watch duty all night?” Stroheim asked, slowly rising to his feet with quite a bit of groaning-in the future, he would remember not to sleep in his armor.

“Yeah-but it was fine. I saw some interesting things out there.” Isaac responded, a slightly concerned tone to his voice.

“Like what?”

Isaac then pointed to the south of the clearing they’d rested in, gesturing to a large iron fortress that Stroheim noted was very out of place in the underdeveloped Black Shroud, seeming to cut the very woods it occupied in half.

“See that?” Isaac said. “They call it Baelsar’s Wall. Big ‘ol Garlean fortress-it’s meant to close off Ala Mhigo from the rest of the Eorzean continent-took a good few winters for them to get it up.”

“Sounds like trouble-what did you see?” Stroheim said, inspecting his harpoon and gathering up his equipment. “There’s lots o’ Garlean bases on Eorzean soil-all remnants from the previous invasion attempts-if this one is getting active, things could get messy.”

“This one’s got some strange activity going on inside-last night, I saw a bunch of lights moving about, so I borrowed the spyglass in your pack. Turns out those lights were imperial speculators.”

“Imperial what-nows?” Stroheim questioned with a raised eyebrow and a confused expression.

“Speculators-they come in after a place has been taken over by the empire and take stock of where and how to build bases, where all the ore is-they’re numbers guys, and if they’re measuring for cannons on Baelsar’s Wall, I get the feeling something messy is coming.” Isaac explained.

“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it whenever it comes-right now, it sounds like they’re just doing estimates. Now, get your stuff and let’s get moving. I’m hoping to grab some breakfast on the way. Preferably something with meat-these damned Gridanians are gonna starve me to death.”


	5. A Symbol Of Prosperity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd takes her second job as an adventurer, sending her to Moraby Drydocks to assist in the construction of a titanic warship known as the Victory-and she soon discovers that not everyone in La Noscea is amenable to such a symbol of power being constructed.

_**Meteor** _

_**A Final Fantasy XIV Story** _

_**Chapter Five – A Symbol Of Prosperity** _

Sigurd stood atop a hill in lower La Noscea and scanned the horizon as the sea breeze gently brushed her face and the morning sun lit up the region. Noticing a particularly large naval vessel sitting in a dry dock, she spun her bag around to her front and opened the flap, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment and glancing at the blue crystal inside.

“Still dunno how that got in there...” Sigurd thought aloud. “I know for damn sure I didn’t put it in there, but that’s an issue for later.” She then unfolded the parchment, revealing a note written in messy, clearly rushed handwriting, reading “Moraby Drydocks, Lower La Noscea. Look for the Victory, speak to Ahtbyrm”.

‘ _I guess Victory is the name of big boy down there. Time to get to work-_ _another day, another job_ _.’_ She thought, stuffing the note back in her bag and hopping down from the hill. She then walked to the open gates and jogged down the long, tracked slope leading into the docks, where the smell of both the sea air and the various lengths of freshly cut lumber collided, forming a strange but not wholly unpleasant aroma. She then headed to the drydock itself, and found a bulky, dark-haired Roegadyn man in a metalworker’s apron with a short, neatly trimmed beard on his chin overlooking the construction of the gigantic vessel before him.

“You Ahtbyrm? I’ve got a letter for you from Limsa Lominsa.” Sigurd said.

He then turned around with his arms crossed and faced Sigurd, one eyebrow raised.

“I suppose it’s a missive from Forgemaster H’naanza? I assume it pertains to the materials I ordered over a moon past, so let’s see it.” He replied.

Sigurd nodded and reached into her pack, pulling out a letter stamped with the seal of Lominsa’s foremost shipwright company, Naldiq & Vymelli's. Ahtbyrm took the missive and pulled a short knife from his apron, then cut it open and began to read it silently.

“...Blast and botheration! Another delay?!” He shouted suddenly. “I am well aware of the shortage of skilled artisans, but this is insufferable! Unacceptable!”

“You’ve got my sympathies.” Sigurd said with a slight shrug. “Times are tough.”

“My apologies. The messenger does not deserve to bear the brunt of my frustration-might I have your name?” Ahtbyrm replied with a sigh and a light bow.

“Name’s Sigurd-I’m an adventurer from Limsa.”

“Sigurd, is it? Well, Sigurd, this proud maiden you see taking shape before you is the Victory, the first new vessel to grace these docks since the Calamity-now, the Victory is more than a simple warship, it is a symbol of Limsa Lominsa’s rebirth from the wreckage wrought by the coming of the Seventh Umbral Era.”

“Yeah, well, your symbol seems to be having some developmental troubles-and now that I think about it, wasn’t there an airship like that, too?”

“The Invincible, yes-it suffered from material shortages, accidents, sabotage and outright incompetence. It never took flight, even after ten summers...and unfortunately, the Victory’s construction is presently suffering due to three of those problems. We’ve even hired veteran shipwrights from beyond La Noscea’s borders, but it’s been tough going.”

“Sounds rough-since I’m here, mind if I lend a hand?”

“Much obliged-there’s never enough hands around, so should you choose to linger for a time, there’s no end of odd jobs. But be warned, this is no place for layabouts and troublemakers.”

“Fear not, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Sigurd said with a dramatic bow and a flourish.

“In that case, I’ve something of a personal job for you. A shipwright of mine-young lad named Fyrilsmyd-recently left Candlekeep Quay down by the cliffs to retrieve several supply crates from Limsa Lominsa. He’s yet to return, and I would ask that you seek him out and learn what’s become of our supplies.” Ahtbyrm said.

‘ _This sounds familiar-but I suppose I’m still a new adventurer, so it makes sense.’_ Sigurd thought.

“Sure, I can look for him.” Sigurd said.

“Good to hear-things will run much smoother with those supplies.”

Sigurd then turned and headed out the gates of the drydocks and down the rough-hewn path along the cliff side, when she noticed a Roegadyn man on his hands and knees behind a rock on the beach, causing her to turn and sprint over.

“Hey! You alright?” She asked, skidding to a stop and extending a hand. She then noticed he was near a small port and had a large amount of shipwrighting tools on a belt. “Wait...are you Fyrilsmyd?”

“Aye, that’s me.” He said, taking the hand and rising to his feet. “Why do you ask?”

“Your foreman’s looking for you and the supplies you were supposed to retrieve.”

“I thought he might be-but you must know, I cannot show my face there until I’ve righted the terrible wrong I caused.”

“Hoo, boy, here we go again.”

“What’s that?”

“Nevermind-what’s this wrong you caused?”

“Two nights past, I made the trip from the docks to Candlekeep Quay-that port there-just as the foreman asked. The seas were right rough, and the captain of the cargo ship was wary of bringin’ her too close to the cliffs, so I paid off a fisherman to take me out to meet her.”

“That was stupid. Brave, but stupid.” Sigurd commented in a snarky tone.

“Aye, aye, it was-but you must understand the foreman is not a patient man!” Fyrilsmyd exclaimed, waving his hands frantically.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Anyroad, continue.”

“By the time we were halfway there, the swells were ten yalms high, and it wasn’t long afore the waves had hold of us-we tried to keep the boat steady, but the waves slammed us headlong into the galley. When I woke, both ships were gone, and the cargo I was sent to collect was strewn all over the Salt Strand-this beach we’re on.”

“I’m guessing something prevented you from collecting it?”

“The sands are crawlin’ with Qiqirn, and I ain’t good with a sword. And now you see why it is I can’t go back.”

“It’s clearer now, yes. I’ll go get the supplies, you head on back to the docks. Anything specific the docks need?”

“Thank you, you’ve saved my job and my hide! Now, we need it all, of course, but the priorities are the helm wheel, the rigging and the sailcloth-get those and Ahtbyrm should be happy...or, well, less angry.”

He then bowed, turned around and proceeded to sprint up the cliffside at a rate Sigurd did not think naturally possible.

‘ _Wow-that’s one scary boss if he’s running that fast.’_ Sigurd thought. She then proceeded to walk over to the improvised beach camps of the Qiqirn-bipedal, humanoid creatures reminiscent of two-legged mice, with long whiskers and lanky snouts, slender fingers and a short stature. Despite their rat like appearance, Sigurd also noticed that many of them were sporting hooded coats made from various types of leather, along with rough, handmade coveralls and necklaces. She then glanced around and saw the required materials sitting over in a crate in the corner, and reached for her axe.

‘ _Wait-are these Qiqirn...oh, what’s the word? Intrinsic...intelligent!’_ Sigurd wondered. _‘If so, what are the laws on that? Is killing them illegal?...Screw it, I’ll just knock them out with my bare hands to be safe.’_

She then released her grip from her axe, balled up her armored fists and charged in, then punched the nearest beastman square in the snout, sending him soaring and landing with a thunk against a nearby boulder.

“You guys are bigger pushovers than I thought.” Sigurd thought aloud as she looked down at her gauntlet, drawing a cacophony of chattering as the Qiqirn rushed towards her-she then reeled back her right leg and swept it in front of her in a wide arc, and as before, they went flying with a chorus of squeaks. Realizing quickly that they were very outmatched, the remaining scavengers let out loud screeches and fled in fear from the big scary buff lady. Sigurd placed her hands on her hips and watched as they scattered.

“Someone in Limsa Lominsa’s military needs a talking to-there’s no excuse for this to get as bad as it did.” She grumbled, rubbing her temples. “They didn’t even touch me!”

Releasing her hand from her face, she then stepped over to the crate and dug through the tangled mess of ropes and wood, finding the sailcloth and ropes in neatly organized, small wooden boxes along with the wheel. She stacked them on top of each other and slipped them into her bag, carrying the wheel with her free hand. She then looked at the rest of the package and got an idea. She reached inside and found a small sachet of gunpowder by chance-most likely scavenged by the Qiqirn from another ship-and loosened the string and dumped half the powder on the beach. She then stepped back five paces, reared back her arm and lobbed the remaining gunpowder onto a leftover campfire, resulting in a bright flash of fire, a cloud of smoke as big as her body and a thundering boom.

“That’s a little bigger than I thought it’d be.” Sigurd commented with a cough. “But it should get the Yellowjackets’ attention and get it sent to the docks.”

She then began the long trek up the cliffside back to the docks, where she found Ahtbyrm in the same place she’d left him.

“I’m back-found the missing materials and that crewman. The rest is down on the beach-I sent a signal to the Yellowjackets to retrieve it.” Sigurd said, setting down the bulky wheel at his feet and removing the ropes and sail from her bag to create a pile.

“So, you’re the cause of that explosion I heard...anyroad, I am relieved to hear that both Fyrilsmyd and the supplies are unharmed, though it was foolish for him to believe that I would blame him for that which was obviously out of his hands.” Ahtbyrm replied, a surprisingly calm tone to his voice. “You see, there was no storm that day, and the seas adjacent the docks were as calm as a slumbering child.”

“But...what else could it be?”

“It’s my belief that the trouble the ships encountered was of a less natural sort-the sort which the Sahagin have been known to conjure.”

“That’s news to me-from what I heard, I assumed they were simple pirates.”

“How I wish that were true, but no-the Sahagin have no small number of skilled mages among their ranks, and that makes them dangerous.”

“And from what I hear, they’ve been getting more aggressive lately.”

“Indeed-which brings me to my next job for you. Ghimthota, head of the watch here at the drydocks, believes that pirates may be plotting an attack on the victory, and she requires assistance investigating a group of unsavory folk making camp nearby. I’ve recommended you for the job.”

“Sure, I can do that-where to?”

“Good-head over to the aetheryte and you’ll find her.”

"Oh, but let's not forget your pay." He said, producing a small sack of gil and tossing it to Sigurd.

Sigurd nodded, caught the bag and turned to walk over, stopping to attune to the large aetheryte crystal along the way before walking up to a Roegadyn woman dressed in a red Lominsan overcoat.

“You’re Ghimthota, right? I heard you have a problem with some miscreants.” Sigurd asked.

“Ah, yes-I had a feeling you’d be the one Ahtbyrm sent; since you first arrived, I have had my men watch you.” She replied.

“Excuse me? The hells?” Sigurd said, her tone rising slightly.

“No need to get angry. I make it a point to keep an eye on all those new to the area. It’s simply protocol.” Ghimthota assured her. “You’ll be please to know that nothing...incriminating...was found. You appear to be a model citizen-that, and the foreman seems to think highly of you, which is quite shocking; the man doesn’t even trust his own mother.”

“That’s all well and good-now, what do you need me to do?”

“Straight to business-that’s admirable. The pirates we believe are conspiring to raid the docks were last seen making camp near an ancient stone called the mark of the Spinner-it’s on a cliff overlooking the docks. I would have you approach the men, posing as a lost adventurer, and see if you can somehow learn of their intentions.”

“Got it-seems simple enough.”

“It may, but it rarely is. Best of luck, adventurer.”

Sigurd then nodded and ran out the nearby side gates, scanning the landscape for outcroppings before her eyes settled on a cape settled in the cliff with smoke coming from it. She walked over and saw a moderately menacing trio of pirates, then slid down to the outcropping and landed on her rear on purpose.

“Oh, hey!” Sigurd said loudly. “You fellas know the way to, uh...um...that place with the big boat? The docks?”

The group turned to face her, and a bulky, middle-aged Roegadyn man with a sizable beard wearing a tricorne and eyepatch stood up with a grumble and faced her.

“Alright, lass, you listen ‘ere-I’m givin’ ye to the count of nine to step back on that path, and carry yer ‘venturin’ arse back down to whatever rock it is ya crawled out from under.” He shouted threateningly.

“Okay, okay, no need to be rude, buddy! I’m just asking for directions, and you seemed like traveling folk.” Sigurd replied, waving her hands dramatically.

“I’ve had it up to my ears with yer type, roamin’ the hills like they was yers to roam!” He complained, his voice steadily rising. “It’s gettin’ to be that a man can’t even enjoy a mug o’ rum without some shite-breath outlander runnin’ up askin’ the way to the local levemete-seven hells if I know! I’m a bloody pirate, godsdammit! I swear, once we have my boy back, I’m puttin’ this godsforsaken pisshole of an island so far behind me, ain’t no one’ll remember I was ever here! Now, come on, scrags! We’ve knives to sharpen.”

“Hey, I can take the hint, I’m leaving-best of luck with...whatever you’re up to.”

Sigurd then turned and ran back up the slope, hotfooting it back to the docks in quite a rush, skidding to a stop in front of Ghimthota.

“Pirates. Planning something. Mentioned getting their boy back.” Sigurd said, panting heavily.

“Hmm...that confirms my suspicions unfortunately-but what is this talk of “getting their boy back”?” She questioned. “Could it be that their target is not the Victory? Something’s up, and I won’t sit idly waiting for them to attack. Thank you for your help in finding this out.”

“No problem, glad to-”

Their conversation was then interrupted by a loud explosion, and the two turned and saw smoke rising from the main entrance, and a soldier ran up to them panting, covered in dust and grime.

“Captain! Trouble-ugh...trouble...at the shipyard!” The soldier forced out. “Pirates...out of nowhere. Stuck me good.”

“Shite!” Ghimthota exclaimed. “Shite, shite, shite, shite, SHITE!”

“I must have made them panic-they’re moving up the schedule!” Sigurd quickly theorized.

“Gods below, we are **NOT** prepared for this! The pirates, how many are there?!” Ghimthota questioned, a rising fury to her voice.

“Not sure-more than I could quickly count...seemed to be carrying explosives.” He explained.

“Explosives?! Then there’s no time to lose! You there, you must-” The captain began.

“Already on it.” Sigurd finished, unsheathing her axe and sprinting towards the ramp over to the Victory. However, a pair of pale Roegadyn pirates with bows stood in her path, and they fired off two arrows in unison, and Sigurd weaved to the side, narrowly dodging them by a hair.

‘ _Shite-bows. I can’t block them.’_ Sigurd thought. _‘But as long as I get in close, it’ll be fine.’_

She then continued her charge, twisting her body to tackle them as she plowed into one with her right shoulder. The other took aim as she did, and she placed two hands on the haft of her weapon and swung her axe at him in a diagonal arc, splitting his bow in two-in response, he pulled an arrow out of his quiver and held it like a knife, and Sigurd turned, raised her axe again, flipped it around and slammed the pommel into his face, causing him to let out a groan as he fell to the ground. She then raised her foot and stomped on his face, knocking him unconscious. The other then stood up and produced a knife from his tunic and ran towards her, and she spun her axe around to slam him in the gut with the hilt. He let out a groan as well, and soon fell to the ground in a heap, clutching his stomach.

“Been a while since I’ve fought other people. I’m out of practice.” Sigurd mused.

With the two bowmen dealt with, she charged through the lumber yard, now filled with the smell of blood and the sound of steel clashing against steel, and she arrived at the Victory, finding Ahtbyrm tied up in front of the tricorne-wearing pirate she’d just irritated earlier.

“Never reckoned it’d be this easy! Still don’t trust those slimy bastards, but their plan worked like a charm!” He commented aloud.

“Da! What are you doing, you great fool?!” Ahtbyrm shouted.

“Shut yer trap, boy-this’ll all be over soon. All that’s left now is to blow this ugly pile o’ driftwood into splinters!” The pirate shouted in response.

“Why would you do such a thing? Have you any idea how important this ship is? What it represents?!” Ahtbyrm pleaded.

“Aye, and that’s what makes it all the sweeter! Whatever it takes to knock some sense back into my treacherous, backstabbing son! Imagine, a boy of mine givin’ up the pirate life to become a shipwright, and buildin’ a bleedin’ Maelstrom vessel at that! What under Llymlaen’s wide, green ocean made ye take up with these self-righteous shites?!”

“You’re the one with no bloody sense, Da! Don’t you see? The pirates had their glory days, but that era is over!”

“You should listen to your son.” Sigurd interjected, her axe at her waist. “The tides have turned-surrender.”

“You! You’re determined to be a nuisance, ain’t ya?!” He bellowed. “No matter-I’ll carve you up into some nice chunks before I blow that ship to bits!”

He then produced an axe from his back, swung it over his shoulder and brought it down towards Sigurd in a wide vertical arc, causing her to step back. She then swung her axe in front of her with one hand, tearing into the aging pirate’s shirt. He let out a grunt, and then flipped his axe in his hands and swung it diagonally with a mighty roar as it slammed into Sigurd’s chestplate and landed with a clang, leaving a dent and knocking the wind out of her, forcing her to the ground. He then raised up his axe, and Sigurd rolled to the side as it crashed into the stone next to her. She then jumped to her feet, raised up her right leg and firmly planted it in his chest-as she did, Ghimthota and her soldiers charged in.

“Sigurd! Leave the lackeys to us-keep fighting him!” She shouted as she engaged a bow-wielding pirate in combat.

“Gods damn it...I didn’t think I’d be so hard pressed!” The leader yelled. “Guess it’s time for my secret weapon-come on out!”

As he said that, a group of scaled, lanky beastmen akin to humanoid lizards charged in with axes and swords and began to aid the pirates.

“As we agreed, Ahtzapfyn!” The leader of the beastmen shouted.

“Mamool Ja mercenaries?!” Ghimthota exclaimed. “This day is getting worse; I’ll take them, you focus on the leader!”

Sigurd nodded and turned back to Ahtzapfyn, raising her axe above her head, and swung it downwards, and Ahtzapfyn raised his axe and blocked it, then pushed against it, throwing her off. She attempted to regain her composure, spinning her axe and holding it up to block as he swung again in a horizontal arc, and the axe bounced off. In response, he released his grip on the axe and unholstered a flintlock pistol, taking aim at Sigurd, and so she quickly stepped forward, grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him as he pulled the trigger, causing him to shoot one of his mercenaries. He then shook her off and swung his axe with one hand, and Sigurd quickly blocked the attack-and then, she began to hear the sound of cracking wood and stepped back. She then glanced at her weapon and noticed various small cracks forming in the handle.

‘ _Oh, shite. Oh shite, oh shite, oh shite.’_ Sigurd thought. _‘This is the worst time for this!’_

“You’re wide open!” Ahtzapfyn shouted, swinging his axe behind him before swinging in a wide arc.

‘ _Actually...hold on.’_ Sigurd mentally commented.

She then grabbed her axe with one hand at the base of the handle and the other near the head, and held it vertically to block the blow-as she thought, it split into two under the force of the attack.

“Ha! There goes your puny excuse of an axe! Now what’ll you do?!” Ahtzapfyn taunted arrogantly.

“This!” Sigurd said, flipping the remains of the handle in her hand. She then raised it up like a dagger and slammed it into his shoulder, emitting a scream that could break a window. She then reared back her gauntlet-covered fist and punched the improvised stake with a loud warcry, causing Ahtzapfyn to stumble and cough up blood as it burrowed deeper into him.

“Now, eat this!” She yelled, her vision beginning to turn a dark shade of red as a strange feeling of rage began to boil inside her. She then raised the remaining axe head and swung it into his gut, embedding it deeply and causing him to fall onto his back.

“That’s enough!” Ghimthota shouted. “You’ve beaten him.”

Sigurd glanced up at her as Ahtzapfyn fell to the ground in front of the Victory-and the rage began to subside as her vision returned to normal. She then looked around and saw that half the pirates and beastmen laid dead, a quarter were laying on the ground with Maelstrom officers kneeling on them and holding their hands behind their backs, and the last quarter were turning and running after the loss of their leader.

“Is it-” Sigurd began.

“Yes. It’s over.” Ghimthota finished.

Sigurd let out a deep sigh and leaned backwards, falling onto her back.

‘ _I’m beginning to wonder-all those adventurers that have died...’_ She thought. _‘...Were they actually killed, or did they just die of exhaustion? I haven’t fought this much in a long time.’_

Meanwhile, Ahtzapfyn let out a cough and turned to face Sigurd.

“I...I must be gettin’ old…lettin’ some green ‘venturer get the best o’ me.” He muttered, before turning to face the Victory. “That’s one big bloody ship. Big...an’ nasty lookin’. Ye made that...did ye?”

As he went silent, Sigurd could swear she saw a smile creep across his lips as a pair of Maelstrom soldiers picked him up by the limbs and began to carry him away.

“Shite. I think I went a little overboard; he was pretty old.” Sigurd commented to herself.

“He refused to surrender.” Ghimthota offered, reaching out a hand to help Sigurd to her feet. “If you hadn’t killed him, he would have tried again and again. You killed one man, but you saved dozens more.”

“I know that...but still.” Sigurd replied, taking her hand and rising to her feet. “That rage-that wasn’t normal. I’d planned to stop after I stabbed him, but I kept going.”

“It was the heat of battle. Nothing more.” She assured her.

“If you say so.” Sigurd said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Still felt odd.”

“I do say so-now, I need to file my report on this incident and deal with the prisoners. If you wouldn’t mind, go speak to Ahtbyrm. I imagine he could use someone to speak to at this junction.”

“Will do.”

However, Sigurd then noticed a glint out of the corner of her eye, and saw that Ahtzapfyn’s axe had fallen to the ground next to him. She then glanced around and saw that the docks had gone quiet, save for Ahtbyrm sitting in front of his creation.

‘ _Well...since that old girl gave up the ghost...’_ Sigurd thought, kneeling down to pick up the weapon, noticing that it had a recently polished wooden handle with a metal, cross-shaped pommel and what appeared to be a sharpened pick on one side of the head. _‘Hmm-it’s well weighted. Must be custom made-seems a shame to let it go to waste.’_

She then spun it around and slid it into the holster her previous axe occupied-it fit just as well.

“Looting his corpse feels wrong...but...” Sigurd began.

“Don’t worry.” Ahtbyrm interjected, leaning his head back and rubbing his arms, having been cut free by the Maelstrom. “It’ll be good to see Da’s axe put to good use-’sides, the Maelstrom “confiscates” valuables from pirates they take in all the time.”

“I figured as much-city of pirates and all. How are you doing, by the by?” She responded.

“For one, I’m grateful to you-I shudder to think what may have become of the Victory without your intervention. Still, the pirates have made a right mess of things-I’d best get to sorting out the docks...and my thoughts could use some sorting out as well; ever did my father have a way of turning my life upside down. In the meantime, pray convey my thanks, and apologies, to Ghimthota.”

“I will-and I’m sorry about your father.”

“I don’t blame you-it was the inevitable end of all pirates, him included-now, you’d best get a move on so you can catch Ghimthota when she’s done.”

Sigurd nodded and bowed to him, then spun around and walked to her post and sat down on the stone barriers surrounding the docks. And it was there that she sat until sunset, with a myriad of questions bouncing through her mind.

What is “needless death”? Is there such a thing? If so, who does and doesn’t need to die? Civilians? Merchants? Pirates? Soldiers? Beastmen? Mankind? What about monsters? Livestock? Amid all these questions, one dark thought slid in-“Cartenau was simpler.” And though she never wanted a repeat of that accursed battle under those blood red skies, she found herself pining for the simplicity brought by fighting the Garlean Empire-they were the enemy. The villains of the story. There were no shades of gray there, just black, white and red-she didn’t have to think about the people she killed; the Eorzean Alliance dehumanized them, made them little different from monsters-beasts to be slain for the good of the world. But Ahtzapfyn? He was a villain, certainly, but no monster-just a resentful old man who the world left behind in the long march of progress.

Her thought process was then interrupted by the return of Ghimthota, carrying a clipboard under her arm.

“How fare you?” She asked, waving to Sigurd. “I cannot begin to thank you for the role you played in preventing this madness. You defended more than a simple ship-you saved the budding hope of Limsa Lominsa from a violent demise. The day was yours.”

“Thank you...but I wish it hadn’t ended the way it did.” Sigurd replied.

“Still going on about that, eh?” Ghimthota said, crossing her arms as she looked down at her. “He made his choice, and he accepted the consequences. No need to feel bad about putting him down...speaking of which, I’ve got another favor to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“The pirates we defeated have been handed over to the Yellowjackets, and Commodore Reyner’s men will be taking over the investigation. However, we recovered a most unusual object as they were being processed-a curious missive found amongst their leader’s personal effects. It was penned in an unusual script, and we believe it to be some manner of code.”

“And I suppose you want me to get it decrypted?”

Ghimthota nodded and produced the rolled note from the pocket of her overcoat, holding it out, and Sigurd grabbed it.

“Yes. Unfortunately, though the Maelstrom counts a diverse variety of scholars among its ranks, none among us can make any sense of the message. We even turned to the Marauder’s Guild and Arcanist’s Guild.”

“I’m guessing there’s a catch coming that makes me the right person for this.”

She nodded in response.

“In cases such as this, I am told the Yellowjackets are wont to turn to Baderon and his convenient...connections.” Ghimthota explained in a begrudging tone, looking away as she did. “Therefore, I would have you deliver this missive to the proprietor of the Drowning Wench-into his hand, and no other. Understand?”

“I do-I’ll drop it off when I get back to the city.”

“Excellent. Please do so-oh, and before I forget: how did your talk with Ahtbyrm go?”

“He told me to share his gratitude and his apologies. Said he was gonna work on cleaning up the mess the pirates made.”

“...Ahtbyrm apologizes?”

“He did.”

“Well, I suppose I can understand why he would feel responsible for his father’s actions. Of all those involved, this incident was hardest on him.”

“I don’t know, he seemed to be handling it.” Sigurd offered.

“I believe he has come to a single conclusion: the most fitting way of moving past his anguish is to see the Victory completed and in the water.” Ghimthota theorized.

“Huh. Didn’t think of that. Anyroad, I suppose I should get going and return to Baderon.”

“Indeed, I’ve taken enough of your time. Safe travels, and thank you once again.”

  
Sigurd then swung her bag around to her waist, flipped it open and tossed the note inside.

‘ _Now, how did it go again?’_ Sigurd thought. _‘Hold the place in your mind? Yeah, that’s it.’_ She then closed her right fist and raised it up to her face, imagining the aetheryte plaza in Limsa Lominsa. In response, her body began to float as glowing blue tendrils appeared around her and danced in a lazy circle, and her vision went white with a flash as she heard a low hum, and when her sight returned, she found herself returned to the city, its plaza as active by night as by day. She then happened to run her hand over her bag, noticing that scratches and a wealth of dirt was beginning to build up on the aged haversack, and then placed her right hand on the hefty dent in her armor.

‘ _My armor’s banged up, but I’m still alive-I saved a lot of people today. I saved a symbol. And I saved myself. I’m a hero, just like I wanted to be...but how many did I kill to become one?’_ Sigurd ruminated. _‘Bah, this isn’t the time for that. I’ve got a job to do!’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Admittedly, this chapter was mostly filler...but like with driving, at some point in life, you've gotta slow down for the construction so that things will be better in the future-nevertheless, I hope this chapter was to your liking.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!
> 
> This is going to be something of an irregular project for me-still, I hope to get chapters published fairly regularly, though I make no promises on that front. Anyroad, I've rambled on here long enough!


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